


Lingering Memories

by eternal_sonnet



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Canon Compliant, Character Study, Childhood Memories, Corruption, Darkfic, During Canon, Gen, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Minor Character Death, One Shot, Pre-Canon, Sebastian Michaelis Being An Asshole
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:13:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25169002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eternal_sonnet/pseuds/eternal_sonnet
Summary: At night, when the light of the candles fell on his face, the previous Earl's ghost of a face haunted his features. Sebastian knew how important those lingering memories were to fuel his master's rage and motivation.One shot, mostly a character study of both Ciel and Sebastian based on a variety of headcanons and written in the form of short snapshots from Ciel's life.
Relationships: Ciel Phantomhive & Rachel Phantomhive & Vincent Phantomhive, Ciel Phantomhive & Real Ciel Phantomhive, Sebastian Michaelis & Ciel Phantomhive
Kudos: 11





	Lingering Memories

His mother smelled like flowers; gentle ones like jasmines or chamomile, warm and happy. It seemed to radiate off her clothes, her hair, her smiles which he loved so much. They weren't painted like the ones on his father's face or like the ones he would stretch over his own face when he would become the earl himself, mocking the one in front of him rather than being a sign of good nature and happiness. Even when she would have her attacks and spend days in bed, her hair stuck to her forehead with a sheer layer of sweat, she would offer a smile, a small moment of happiness.

Sometimes his father would take both of them to one of his hunting parties or visits to the town but there would be times when he would have to stay back at the manor, sometimes with his mother, and those were the days he treasured the most, the best memories of his childhood, the ones that actually belonged to him and not his namesake, not the heir to the master of the manor but the younger sibling who dreamt of happiness and nothing more.

Rachel Phantomhive always held her head high and carried herself with grace. She laughed with her sister, his aunt who always played with them when she had the chance and who always looked a little sad and distant, as if she was grieving someone who was still alive and breathing. She carried out her duties with care and discipline and when she raised her glass in one of the many victory celebration toasts her husband made with the other royals who worked with them, there was genuine joy in it.

Yet there was a memory that had always been crystal clear in his head, that he carried with him now as he had then, when he was much younger and unable to understand what actually had happened.

She was sick, had been for a week and was lying in her bed with a newspaper on her lap and her back propped against at least three pillows. He was lying next to her with a picture book in front of him as he idly flipped the pages and told her of whatever that came to his mind. She smiled as he told her how their teachers were too strict, how he wished he could also do fencing and how Ciel had lost to Lizzy in one their fencing matches again.

"He said he would need all the best teachers in England so he could master how to use the sword."

She chuckled. "To win against Lizzy? Why, he could ask her to teach him some of her moves. I am sure she would be delighted to do it."

He shook his head absentmindedly. "No, he says that he would need the best training he could get for when he is all grown up. He said it was essential for when he would become the earl to protect himself and the manner."

"Oh. Is that so?"

He nodded again. "He said the same thing when he saw father hunting. He said he wanted to master all the weapons he could so that anyone who threatened him or the manor would be too scared to even think of doing it again."

She frowned at that for a moment and then pulled him into a hug. They stayed like that for a moment and when she spoke, she spoke silent but clear voice.

"What your father does is very important but also very, very dangerous." 

He knew this already, but he nodded anyway. There was something in her voice that scared him.

"Sometimes I wish you two could have a different future."

"I want to make toys." he offered and laughed as she laughed and pulled him in a much happier hug.

"You will, you will be the best toy maker in the whole of England!"

"Do you really think so?"

"Of course, of course! With an imagination and creativity like yours, why, I am sure you will make many other children very, very happy."

* * *

Sebastian watched as his master stared at the burned pieces of the building, the splinters and the remains of delicate tea sets and expensive paintings in their golden frames. He had offered to build it again immediately, make it into an even bigger and more luxurious one that would suit his new master, a new beginning to a new story.

"Wait for my order." he had said. "And don't you dare to change a thing when you rebuild it."

He had started walking then, within the remains of his home, looking at the destruction that he had missed as if he was trying to etch it into his memory as Sebastian watched from a corner, his sharp eyes following every single step his new master took. He had made many contracts before, ones that were completed in the last century or so and ones that were completed so long ago that no matter how powerful his master have become, no matter how majestic their lives - and eventually, their deaths - were, a few remembered their name now if any remembered their faces, their stories, their legacy at all. This was going to be amusing, he could tell. He didn't think it would last very long, but it was sure to be amusing all the same.

The boy gave him a short nod and he made the whole mansion again in such a speed that it would have been considered a miracle if not for the price that have been paid for it . It was identical to how it had been beforehand, and when Ciel turned to look at the perfect  alignment of the floor pieces, the wallpapers with their designs in perfect symmetry and the furniture, without so much of a scratch on the legs of the chairs, he could see the ghosts wandering around it with gentle, confident, proud, light, cruel and merciful footsteps.

It was hard to look at it and he was tired but this was how it needed to be. He was scared that if he ever let himself have something other than what he did, he would forget why he had come back in first place. This was what he had wanted, as the heir to the earl and the current firstborn son. They were going to remember him as the strong and successful earl who ruled with power and determination. He looked at his reflection on the mirror, blood still dripping from his newly marked eye, dirt clinging to him like a second skin, his gaze not leaving his reflection until he was sure that his expression belonged to that of an heir, an earl, his beloved firstborn brother who was destined for power and nothing less.

* * *

There were no hope for the children they had left behind. If they were to get out of their cages, their captivity under the Baron, they would never have a chance of finding a real place in the world. He told himself again and again as they left the burning building behind. He knew what it did to one's spirit and soul, that kind of terror at such a young age, that kind of mind numbing, soul breaking treatment which left scars that wouldn't fade away. Not without the correct motivation, not without the correct cause.

There was no hope for those children anyway. Hope of that kind wasn't cheap, was rare to find and right now it was bound to his own shadow. 

He was far too tired, his head throbbed and his mind was muddied, blending memories of the past with the current troubles. He was going to have to explain this to the Queen, and if he knew one thing about her, it was that she could sense a lie before it was spoken out loud. 

He saw that Sebastian noticed something before he saw the girl himself, demanding an explanation with fear so clear on her face that it was hard to look at her without feeling the intensity of it. It was a face from the past, too similar to one he knew himself, the hopelessness and then the rage flaring up at the loss of everything there ever was and everything there possibly could be. It was repulsive how familiar it was; it was the familiar face of the dead. The weak son was gone now and he was to stay that way. Rage after being wrong was justified yet her attack without any real power or even the possibility of winning was foolish. He would have let her live if it wasn't for that, he would have left her alone. After his repulsion had faded, he felt as if he had betrayed an ally; the girl had been kind and harmless, nothing less than helpful to what he was trying to achieve.

He shook his head at that slightly. He reminded himself that those kind of things didn't matter, they were a weakness.

_ Sometimes I wish you two could have a different future. _

Those kinds of weaknesses were dangerous, they could be fatal, when it came to that. They could blind a person more than power or greed.

"I must say that I am surprised, master."

He flinched slightly at his butler's intrusion of his internal turmoil.

"Don't be. I did what I had to and you know that very well. Go faster, I am tired and I want to be at the manor as soon as possible after weeks of sleeping at that lowly place."

"Yes, my lord."

* * *

The butler knew the value of small moments of human familiarity. It had come with experience, of course, as most of his skills did, sharpened like the silverware he always kept nearby. He knew that pain was more often than not a product of its moments that faded with time, satisfaction or happiness; all easily gained, all enough to make a person abandon years of determined rage, of raw hunger in pursuit of gain or justice. 

At night, when the light of the candles fell on his face, the previous earl's ghost of a face haunted his features. When he turned around or went to fetch one thing or the other, his posture of a humble butler resembled the confidence, the cruel complexity of the master of the house for less than a second. Sometimes he went to the kitchen afterwards when all was asleep and he was left with himself to pass the time, to dip one finger clad in pretend skin into the salt, marvelling at the burn of it on his tongue, emphasising the hunger he was after to satisfy, that could not be satisfied through all the abundance of humane allusions around him. He himself also had goals, after all, that begged not to be forgotten. Time did a lot of things to a person and even more to a demon. He knew how to get lost in it all as much as he knew why he could never let himself to simply get carried by the current of time, of life, of the fleeting mundane reality of it. None of this was real after all; it never was and it never would be. Humans would come and humans would go. Excitement came and boredom followed right after. He would remain after all of this was gone, as evil stayed and kept breathing long after victory was won and then inevitably lost its glory and meaning as time passed.

In the morning, he arrived to his master's door with the tea and the breakfast. Ciel sat on his bed, his back propped against the pillows, holding a scone with one hand as he gazed down at the newspaper on his lap. Inside, he shuddered from the nightmare he had awoken from, even the mere idea of a breakfast enough to make him nauseous. The insignia on one of his eyes sparked no fear in him. He had felt much of it when he looked down on the corpses of his dear mother and father with way too much blood on them and left all of it on the altar with his brother yet sometimes his memories would resurface and bring back fear with them. Of what he was so afraid of, he was not sure.

A picture of his father, big and mighty within its golden frames hung upon the mantelpiece and his mother, on a slightly smaller one, smiled in the library.  What would she think now, if she could see all this? This manor, built from its ashes on a promise that hung over his soul; himself, encircled with burrowed power, the once bright light tainted with regret, and rage and sorrow. Did he regret it, the decision he made so long ago? Would he abandon it for the sake of her mother's memory, and nothing more, if he could? He raised his tea cup with disinterest and a busy  mind, thoughts travelling between past memories and future businesses. The butler announced the tea as he poured it in.

_ An exquisite blend of jasmine _ , he said and his irises glowed dark pink for a moment before settling back to its usual red, the shade of blood. 

_ with just the right amount of chamomile.  _

**Author's Note:**

> It was written as I played the ending song of Book of Circus on a loop. Some parts of it might get edited later on.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
